Shrew
by Holmes1887
Summary: Ever wonder what it took to keep the Opera afloat? I mean who took care of the finances, paperwork, and schedules? Sure wasn't the managers, we all know this. Madame Giry was capable, but let's be honest, she had a lot on her plate. Maybe she needed help.
1. Prologue

**Authors Note: **Well this is my first "offical fanfiction", so try not to scream at me too much. Aaaaand here we go: I do not own _Phantom of the Opera_ or any of it's characters. They are the property of Gaston Leroux, except for the one weird chick, and Webber. Have fun with it. I do. Oh and reviews would be not only a gift, but . . . AWSOME!

* * *

**Shrew **(prologue)

It was raining in Paris, again. The streets still flowed with the river of traffic, only more sluggish. The thin coat of soot from the workhouses, chimneys from humble flats and townhouses alike was washed away; even if it was only for an afternoon. Cabbies squinted out from under their sodden woolen caps and continued to curse the wetness that fell, almost as equally as their horses. This was the same accursed wet that found Mlle. Csorba. Holding her dripping skirts in one hand and several packages in another, with no umbrella in sight. She charged across the Boulevard des Capucines and was nearly run over by one of those grumpy cabbies. She turned and snorted in his direction.

"Sour Frenchman" she mumbled. She didn't scowl for long, seeing her place of residence always brought a smile to her face, even in this gloomiest of days. Its majestic skyline rose to meet her across the square. _Opera Populaire _She could swear the gold embossed Apollo winked to her from his perch atop the magical venue. For if anything Mlle. Kathryn Csorba was sure the Opera was enchanted. She caught herself smiling once again and winked back, as was her tradition. She happily waltzed her way to the safe shores of her home and muse.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **So here is chapter one in all it's glory. The story will pick up I promise, I'm just not sure exactly where this crazy train is going so bear with me. Oh yeah, insert disclaimer here. Kat is crazy, just give her time to manifest it.

* * *

(chp 1)

Madame Giry was waiting in the small office adjacent to the main managers' office on the first floor.

As always she had a rather stern look on her face. Kat quickly slipped off her soggy hat and coat and handed the days post over to the ever waiting hand of Madame.

"How was the market Kat?"

"Crowded Madame."

"Did you get the wines on the list?" Madame lifted a sculpted eyebrow with the inquiry. Kat smiled slightly, Madame was quite picky about what ended up on the manager's table. She had been tutoring Kat on the vices and virtues of individual wines along with which wine sellers to purchase from, right down to which provinces were better for which wine. Kat was proving to be a dept pupil but still untried in the finer points to the ever frustration of Madame.

"Yes Madame. Mouniser Gerard was most kind and gives you his regards." Madame sniffed. It was a well known fact that Madame and Gerard only dealt with each other out of necessity and not out of courtesy.

"Very good, tomorrow I will need you to pick up some packages from him as well."

"Already done Madame." Kat pulled out the bundles from underneath her shawl. Madame Giry smiled at that.

"Excellent" Madame proceeded to gather the rest of the post and was gone in a swish of skirts. Kat sighed, that was as close to a thank you as she was going to get, but it was a start.

Kat glanced around the small office and saw that the fireplace was once again unlit. The young woman rolled her eyes and settled to the smokey task herself, asking herself once again why after year and a half the opera maids still didn't consider her worthy of their arts. Kat snorted and mimed a high brow French accent; " ohhhhhhh we don worry about ze zilly American, zhe can freeze to death, zhe zmellz of dead ratz and dezpertation. I will not dirty my fine white fingers on her."

A fit of coughing followed this proclamation, seeing as Kat had forgotten to open the flue . . . again. Black soot flew everywhere, including Kat's face, making her look even angrier than before. All of a sudden she felt she wasn't alone. A soft melodic laugh seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was Him; the elusive, the infamous, the ever annoying Phantom.

"Oh yeah, ha ha ha, the girl got soot on her face again!" The laughter not only continued but got louder! The cheek! Kat whirled around, irritation clearly written on her smudged face.

"Fine be that way, but I have the managers report right here." Kat flashed an official looking slip of paper over her head, featuring the figures for last quarter's sales. The laughter died. Kat smirked.

"Ask nicely Sir." The melodic voice turned harsh.

"Do not toy with me mademoiselle." Kat snorted, the third time in the past half hour, Madame would not approve.

"Yes oh mysterious one." Kat held the paper behind her head until a cold rush of air snatched it from her hand. "You're welcome." The air remained silent. "I don't get paid enough for this." Kat mumbled. She pinched the bridge of her nose and did a mental check list of all the paperwork that needed filling before tonight's dinner.

M. Firmin and M. Richard were having some world renowned conductor and his wife for dinner along with a couple of the patrons, including Raoul de Changy. She groaned inwardly. Somehow whenever the young Vicomte came to visit, Kat had to calm some hysterical ballerina or cleaning woman who had seen the Phantom and were convinced he was out for their blood or worse when the managers decided to have one of their breakdowns. She was sure the Vicomte did not intend for these things to happen, but he seemed to carry some bad curse with him in the opera house. Kat was not sure what the young man had done to warrant the Phantom's rather malicious attentions, but it proved to be vexing and a little dangerous at times.

Kat shook herself out her revere and began to write, copy, file, and keep the wind in the sails that were the Opera Populaire.

* * *

5 o'clock came too quickly for Kat's taste. There was barley a dent in the ever growing pile papers, but at least tomorrow was Saturday. She of course still had work but it was only half a day. The sun was setting even at this early hour as winter came creeping in, nipping at the heels of fall. The rain had stopped for now, but would surely make an encore in the dark hours of morning.

The performers were coming to life, the drudge of rehearsals replaced by the fizz of excitement of the last performance of _The Flute_. The conductor and his wife would be among the esteemed audience and Kat had to move quickly if she was to put the final preparations in place. This meant that the valets, ushers, and other underlings were aware of their arrival, departure, tastes, dislikes, and general pratter that made up a distinguished personality such as theirs. She hoped that the Phantom would remain uncharacteristically in the background tonight. He had been relatively quiet of late but that could change all too quickly if suited him. She gave a despairing look at the large grandfather clock in the corner already chiming a quarter past and wished she could hide under her desk until the night was over.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Honestly I feel like I'm banging my head against the wall, have you ever wanted to write and found that it was mostly drivel? Well I'm kinda there. Brownie point to whoever can find the reference to another work of great french literature! Also Kat isn't french if her last name doesn't already give it away, she is European, sort of. Care to guess dear reader? Anyway enjoy my great heaping pile of crazy! Tastes like chicken!

* * *

(chp 2)

The final dregs of the night found Kat on top of the opera house; one of her favorite haunts, leaning against a rather damp leg of the east bound Pegasus statue nursing a mug of steaming tea watching the night spin into early morning. Her thoughts were mercifully blank for once. She was perfectly content to watch the sun come up eventually if she were so inclined.

A slam of a carriage door shattered this dream. Kat's head began to pound. "Damn it!" she groused. Sighing deeply she tried to resist the urge to scream and found herself lacking. The door slammed again followed by yelling and a shriek of a horse. Needless to say this didn't improve her mood. Marching to the ledge of the roof Kat was about to let out what she thought to be an appropriate retort to the rude disruption, when an odd sight greeted her eyes. A tall cloaked figure was letting the team out of their traces, while a young man struggled in vain to keep the agitated horses together and yelling at the offender. The coachman was nowhere to be found. A thousand questions filled her mind, but then she saw the features of the young man in question a grim and cynical smile distorted her face. It was the Vicomte. Of course it was, which meant that more than likely the cloaked figure was Him; the Phantom. Her night was getting better and better, and here she thought she would get a night to herself. Kat held her now cold mug in front of her and gave it a mock salute. "Till next time my ceramic friend." With that she drew herself up to her full height, which was considerable considering her sex, and braced herself to "talk" to the two clearly deranged men.

She quickly picked her way down the spindly stairs which lead to the roof, while mentally rehearsing the angry speech she hoped would admonish both of the hot heads. A few of the stagehands were still wandering about, setting things to rights, or flirting with some of the more desperate of the ballet rats. Kat gave a quick nod to those she knew, and a hurried step to those she rather she didn't. She could hear the shouts the closer she got to the front entrance and wondered why no one else had inquired to the source of the din of profanity. Her question was soon answered; the performer's entrance was crowded with cleaning women, ballet rats, singers, lackeys, and other general hangers' ons of the opera. At Kat's approach one of the girls rushed to her, frantically relaying all that had transpired in the last twenty minutes, her dark eyes pleading for a peaceful resolution. Kat smiled gently and whispered hurried instructions into the anxious ear. The girl scampered off leaving the rest of the company to Kat's iron gaze. She knew these people, they were as bad as the ancients, and they were baying for blood or for it to end in someone's tears. Missy, one of the older cleaning women sighed.

"Here come Javert to put an end to the fun, and I thought I would get to see that little git put in his place for once." The others groaned. Kat was notorious for putting an end to squabbling no matter how innocent. It was one thing Kat abhorred, and that was pointless argument.

"Unless you have something constructive to add to the situation, I suggest you find amusement elsewhere."

"Aye, aye Le Inspector" came a snide reply. Kat pointedly ignored this and started down the grand staircase. She felt eyes on her still, a few of the group looked on. "Well off you go!" came her irritated reply to the stares. She glared until they shuffled off, and then half walked, half ran to front doors.

The shouts were louder now; attracting a few spectators of the lower class of night wanders which frequented this part of town after the drunk wealthy left their artistic mistresses, hoping for a quick gain in income. The cold air hit her once again, but this time with more force. She retreated a few steps to regain her breath only to lose it again at the sight before her. The cloaked man stood calmly as the Vicomte's horses galloped down the deserted street as if the Devil himself were after them, the Vicomte was disheveled and a bit winded. He looked around as if at a loss for what to do next.

"When I said she was to only meet you inside the Opera and I meant it boy. Try to undermine my authority again and it will be more than your horses that you will have lost." The voice was as cold and brutal as the Paris winter it's self. Kat shivered despite herself. The Vicomte seemed only more enraged. He narrowed his eyes and his hand twitched at his side, ready to throttle something. Kat thought it best to put a stop to the show.

"Monsieur Vicomte!" The man seemed to be in a trance, never once taking his bright eyes of that human shadow. "Monsieur Vicomte!" She voiced this a little more forcefully and grabbed his twitching forearm. She did not want to call the gendarmes to top the night off. The Phantom hadn't moved, merely looked on as if this were an unfolding scene in one of his operas. At that moment Kat had a slight understanding of the young man's irritation at this looming specter.

Kat's touch seemed to rouse the Vicomte out his decent into further rash action. He regarded her with a cool gaze.

"Mademoiselle if you would be so kind as to release my arm I would be most grateful." He pointedly stared at her gloveless fingers wrapped rather tightly around the fine material of his evening attire. Kat had the modesty to look slightly embarrassed and quickly dropped her offending hand. Somehow she got the feeling the Phantom found this amusing.

"If his grace would like to wait in the front parlor I am sure I can find your grace a suitable ride to his home." She stared at the cobblestones, suddenly becoming the good servant, polite, discreet, and utterly forgettable. De Changy snorted elegantly.

"Don't grovel for God's sake woman." Two heads turned to the until now silent Phantom. Kat clenched her jaw until she was sure he could see the distinctive muscles in her lower mandible, and fixed him with her best death stare. He just folded his arms.

"I'll deal with you later." She hissed. The Phantom quirked an eyebrow and then turned addressing the other simmering youth.

"As engaging as this has been I have other business to attend to, and with a much more appreciative audience." This last barb seemed too much to the otherwise thin patience of the Vicomte and he lunged at the Phantom, Kat blocked his path.

"Out of my way woman!" de Changy bellowed.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Kat countered coolly, eyeing the Phantom out of the corner of her vision.

"Why not?! Don't tell me you have some misguided loyalty to this . . . thing!" he choked. Kat went stiff, true the Phantom was a pain in the neck, and insane; but he wasn't some inhuman creature. She drew upon all her training not to punch the "little git" herself.

"I'd rather not call more attention to this lapse of decorum more than absolutely necessary your grace." Came a politely venomous reply. It took her a second to realize it was her voice. They continued to stare at one another for a beat before de Changy broke the gaze. Kat cleared her throat and gestured inside. With an agitated huff, the Vicomte made his way up the front steps, which left Kat. . . utterly alone. The Phantom had vanished. She bit her lip and silently counted to ten. One of these days she was going to hit that man and it was going to feel good. Cheered by this promise Kat turned up the stairs, Madame was going to kill her.

* * * *

The Vicomte was still glaring daggers in Kat's direction when his replacement cab pulled up to the curb. The discarded carriage had been towed to the stables around back and the coachman discovered. Though he had quite a sizeable lump on his head and no knowledge to identify of his attacker, Kat had a couple ideas on the subject.

Madame calmly talked to the harassed aristocrat as Kat tried not to openly show her dislike.

"Mlle. Daae will be sure to write I assure you your grace." With those parting words, the Vicomte slammed the door of the cab and hit the roof with his cane, indicating his immediate need to be gone from the Opera. The driver, a rather sour looking man, slapped the back of his old mare and they trotted off into the drizzling night. Madame didn't speak for a long time, only briskly turned and stalked back to the side entrance to the Opera. Kat sighed and followed her lead.

They turned left and headed for the small office, now brightly light. Kat dared not to make the first sound. Madame was rather like an exotic man eating jungle cat, make any sudden movements or noises and you would end up with more than a nose bleed. After Kat shut the door Madame finally spoke.

"You are lucky I don't report this to the managers." A beat more. "What have I always told you?" Kat looked down, studying the tips of her boots, feeling like a six year old again.

"Never look nobility in the eyes." Her breath came in small rasps, making her almost inaudible.

"And?" Madame asked sharply.

"Never touch them or their clothing unless under specific order." Another dreaded silence, Madame still hadn't looked at her. Kat began to sweat.

"And?" Kat flinched at the soft inquiry. She had broken the cardinal rule. She couldn't bring herself to voice the mistake; her stomach turned itself into knots. "And?" Madame prompted.

"You are beneath their consideration, you are not equals." Kat sputtered, feeling more ashamed of her weakness. Madame finally looked up from the fire that she had been studying and turned to Kat. Madame looked tired, not angry, not really. She absently fiddled with the brooch on her collar and then sighed as if all the death in world were her fault. She stopped playing with the brooch and regarded Kat with a level gaze.

"Kathryn, that boy will not forget you now. You humiliated him, emasculated him, not to mention challenge his very authority as an aristocrat. This leaves you very vulnerable. Pray that in time this incident will blur into the edges of his memory and merit no further attention." Madame said all this with utmost gravity and sighed again. A pained look came across her dignified face, clouding her sharp eyes in a strange haze of anxiety and memory. Suddenly she snapped back into her persona of efficient and no nonsense mistress of the backstage. "Do you understand Kathryn?"

Kat coughed. "Yes Madame Giry." The tension seemed to seep out the room at this. Madame smiled slightly.

"You did well to send Meg for me and not the gendarmes. I'm afraid the added persons would only arouse his grace's anger further." Her eyes twinkled for a second. "Not to mention our dear Phantom's." Kat snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Mustn't forget him should we?" Kat asked dryly. Madam's face split into a real smile.

"I believe that is hazardous to one's heath my dear. Of course you and M. Phantom never leave the other's company without some kind of anger in its wake." Madame folded herself into one of the wooden chairs scattered around the small space, with a smile on her face. Kat scowled. "Go to bed child, we will face the rest in the morning." Kat nodded.

"Goodnight Madame and thank you." The older woman laughed dryly.

"Don't thank me just yet child."


	4. Chapter 3

(chp 3)

The morning light filtered through the thin shabby drapes and fell unto a rather rumpled sleeping form. The sheets were a tad threadbare, with patching in the more persistent holes. The figure shifted to evade the light making the bed squeak slightly. The light took no heed of the discomfort or nuisance it was causing and crept slowly up over the figure. Noises could be heard through the walls, quiet at first, a few coughs and hushed voices; but began to escalate into rather cheerful and obnoxious greetings of "good morning" and the like. The world refused to be blocked out. Long dark hair spilled out over the edge of the small bed as the figure stretched both arms and groaned. Kat blearily opened her eyes and wished for the thousandth time that the walls were thicker. A sharp rap at the door further embedded this wish.

"Mademoiselle Csorba! Are you awake?" Madame's iron voice sliced through Kat's tired skull. Kat could only cough in response.

"Mademoiselle!" Dear God the woman was persistent! Kat managed to bark out a raspy "oui Madame."

"Good we have some costume alterations that need tending to, and I need the schedule changes to be drafted before noon. Kat glared at the ceiling.

"Oui Madame." Satisfied Madame wandered off to her next victim. Kat rolled on to her side trying to blink away the remnants of her sleep. She absent mindedly scanned her surroundings, books dominated the room. Some were neatly shelved in the massive oak book shelf by her bed; others were haphazardly stacked on top of one another in corners or simply in middle of the floor. Some were large leather volumes austere and severe in their information, other bound simply in cloth or heavy paper, the biding coming loose in Kat's constant perusal of their secrets. A few newspapers found themselves scattered out and about the heap of laundry by door, neglected of late. Candle stubs devoid most of their wax littered a small desk, along with some pen nubs, a splattering of multi-colored inks kept them company on their nightly vigils of the pursuit of knowledge or Kat's latest attempt at a chapter. Over all if one found themselves accidently within these confines one would get the impression that a young bachelor scholar down on his luck or inspiration resided here, not a young woman. In fact the only betrayals of her gender were her dark work frocks in the armoire and a few sets of women's work boots and a pair of formal slippers. Of if one were to be truly nosy a few drawers in the said armoire held her most personal affects, consisting of a worn chemise, a few outdated nightgowns, clean but well worn petticoats and one pair of finely made silk stockings. Her two corsets lay dejected in their compartments ready for another day of abuse, and one worn leather book. The contents were a mystery to all those dare open its covers. It seemed that the text was written in some kind of strange language, if deciphered it would reveal her most intimate thoughts, observations, and hopes.

Kat finally willed herself to swing one pale leg after another over the side of the bed and face the day. She promised herself a walk in park come afternoon with NO paperwork. She quickly popped her neck, let out a curse at the pain and propelled herself forward into the day.

* * * *

3 Hours Earlier

Madame let her dreams carry her further, away from the years, from the responsibilities, and for a moment she was at peace with the world and her place in it as one dreamer among millions in the landscape of the Paris unconscious. Erik almost felt bad for waking the woman. Her face was so soft and fragile in the dying fire. The poor woman really should take better care of herself; she was one of the few competent in his employ. Of course that little chit Csorba was not a complete fool; in fact quiet clever if he were to be honest, but her attitude left much to be desired. Correction her attitude toward him. He sighed that was neither here nor there; he could feel his throat becoming even more enflamed, best make this quick.

He extended a gloved hand and gently shook the older woman's shoulder. She started; it never took much to wake her.

"Madame?" came a soft voice. Madame Giry blearily searched the semi-darkness, then spied the large hand on her shoulder and gave a soft noise of recognition. Erik grimaced slightly at the bags under her eyes. "Madame? I am sorry to wake you (shallow cough) but I am afraid I am in need of your assistance once again." Erik coughed again, damn these French winters! Madame looked up into the half face presented her by the light. His eyes seemed brighter than usual, plus with that cough, without thinking she placed her hand against his forehead, motherly concern over ridding all her training.

"You are feverish Monsieur." She said this in slight amazement. She had never known the mysterious Phantom to be ill, it was so human. Erik coughed again, this time more out of embarrassment than out of necessity.

"So it would appear." Madame looked at his eyes again and saw a much younger man, a boy, unused to asking favors or dealing with the mortal concept of illness. She gave him a gentle smile.

"What do you need Erik?" He blinked in surprise, momentarily at a loss for words. Madame rarely if ever called him by his Christian name. Maybe he should have let her sleep. Madame saw the momentary surprise then fear flit across his eyes. "Oh I am still a mother, my heart is not made of stone." She laughed. Erik angled his head away. Madame's smile dropped, she realized her mistake. "I am sorry monsieur." Erik glanced over, and then met her gaze again. He softened.

"It is alright Antoinette. If you would be so kind as to assist with my correspondence I would be most grateful, seeing as (cough) I'm afraid I will have to personally neglect it." Madame frowned in concentration.

"I'm afraid we are a bit backlogged ourselves Monsieur. The managers have decided a change in the season is needed and some things have to change at the last minute, as you can imagine, we are up to our necks in red tape and hysterics from Carlotta." All at once her eyes lit up, a strange look crossed her face. Erik could swear it had a hint of mischievousness, but then it was gone, a concerned and thoughtful look fixed firmly in its stead, making Erik wonder if the fading light or his dawning illness were making see things. "But perhaps I can arrange something."

* * * *

Kat's day just got interesting.

"You may pick your jaw off the floor Mademoiselle Csorba" declared a haughty voice. Kat quickly clicked her jaws together trying to make sense of the rather unorthodox scene before her; at least unorthodox to her somewhat puritan sensibilities. A male dancer was changing in front of the young woman, having no shame apparently. Kat took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves as she studied the names on the schedule in her portfolio. Why did the dancers, male and female included, feel that just because they were comfortable with their streamlined bodies that everyone else would be as well? Kat furrowed her brow in exaggerated concentration and tried to make sense of her writing. The haughty voice cut through her thoughts again, "today girl! I have a costume fitting in five minutes." La Carlotta sniffed then gave Kat an evil smile. "It is not like you haven't seen any of it before anyway." A blush crept up Kat's pale cheek who was still intently studying the schedule. Kat's strange silence made the obnoxious diva even bolder. She chuckled nastily, "it would seems the Holy Mother is in our midst" she announced to the stage crew. Kat glowered at Carlotta, anger quickly replacing the earlier crippling embarrassment.

"What I know and do not know about the male anatomy is NONE of your business." Carlotta smirked and was about to comment when Kat's alto abruptly cut her off. "Do you hate me _Madame_ because I am common or because I am competition?"* A wicked smile tickled Kat's features as a roar of laughter rippled through the crowd of performers. Carlotta's face was answer enough, horror and indignation danced through her eyes.

One of the seamstresses laughed and said "It would seem she isn't so holy." She then winked in Kat's direction, Kat reciprocated. Kat's victory was cut short however by the sound of Madame Giry's cane hitting the stage, it might as well have been a gavel for the effect it had. A deep and abiding silence took the place of merry noise. Madame raised an eyebrow at the spectacle before her, a murderous diva and an unscrupulous underlying.

"Mademoiselle Csorba if you would be as so kind as to follow me." Kat hung her head, her entire body bent into submission to her mistress. This was not lost on Carlotta whose smirk reappeared to its usual perch on her slightly lined mouth. Kat lifted her head and replied with as much dignity as the moment allowed and voiced her acquiesces in three simple words.

"As Madame Wishes."

Madame swept her gaze over the performers and gave an irritated shake of one her slender hands.  
"As you were." All at once the stage burst into activity, some giving sympathetic looks to the humiliated young woman, others pointedly ignoring her. Madame returned her gaze to Kat and beckoned her to follow.


End file.
